Read Online Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) by Caroline Ashton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Caroline Ashton
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the darker streets of London towards the gambling hell that Trelowen favoured. A thought lightened his gloom. Webb’s absence would let him to place the failure firmly on Webb’s scrawny shoulders. He hovered in the gloomy shadows outside the hell that evening, practising his excuses.
As the first shafts of dawn brushed the rooftops, the Viscount emerged in company with a young man of flushed appearance and nervous hands.
‘So sorry about your run of luck,’ Trelowen said, steadying his companion as he stumbled up the step of a hackney. ‘Bound to change soon. Try again tomorrow.’
The young man’s face blanched. He shook his head and collapsed onto the seat.
Trelowen shut the door with a narrow smile and watched the cab pull away. Without turning he said, ‘So? Who is he?’
Griggs emerged from the shadow. ‘Dunno, sur. Webb couldn’t keep up. He lost ’im halfway down Piccadilly.’
His lordship allowed his gaze to swim round to the figure shuffling from foot to foot. ‘That is not what I ordered.’
‘No, sur. Sorry, sur.’ Griggs tried to find a positive aspect of the failure. ‘But I don’t reckon as you’d get much there. Not like that young ‘un.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the disappearing hackney. ‘The fat one didn’t look too downy to me. Very sharp with his cash, ‘e was. Kept ‘is change from the jarvey.’
Trelowen’s eyes raked the shabby figure from tangled hair to worn boots. ‘Should I find myself in need of your opinion, I will doubtless let you know.’
His eyes made Griggs shiver. ‘Yes, sur. Sorry, sur.’
Trelowen dismissed him with the wave of a pale hand. Griggs tugged at his forelock and backed away, heading for his favourite drinking house and a mug of ale. And the opportunity to tell Webb just how pleased their sometime-employer had not been.
Chapter Six
L ady Fosbury was lying down with a megrim in a room shaded from the late-afternoon sun. Darling Linton’s new fiancée had proven herself to be nothing more than a cheap jilt and called off the engagement. Otherwise her ladyship would have noticed the commotion outside the impressive frontage of the house next door. As it was she was spared the effort of disapproving.
A hackney had pulled to a halt. Archibald Neave descended. He waddled up the front steps and banged the brass knocker on the door. Without waiting for an answer he performed an about face and bounced on his toes, one fist tapping the opposite palm behind his back. He watched the skittering progress of his new purchase across the square with pleasure. Mellor, the mounted groom, his allegiance now transferred from Tatt’s to his new employer, led it with great care and no little anxiety.
The door opened behind Archibald. The under-butler’s doleful face appeared.
‘Nesbit, call Miss Araminta here. Tell her to hurry.’ Nesbit cast a quick glance over the object of his master’s interest. Archibald saw him. ‘And no mention of that. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’
Araminta arrived in moments having gleefully abandoned the tambour work Miss Orksville had decided should be her needlework accomplishment. She rocked to a halt on the top step. ‘Oh, Pa,’ she gasped. ‘Is it mine?’
‘It is, girl. All yours.’
Spellbound, Araminta watched the groom approach, mouth open above her clasped hands. At last she moved. ‘Does he have a name?’ she called, running down the steps.
‘I doubt it.’ His remark was addressed to his daughter’s back. ‘Call him what you like.’
The creature’s nose was velvet soft. Araminta stroked it. She whispered sweet nonsense into the pricked ears. ‘Pegasus. That’s what you’ll be. Pegasus.’ She turned. ‘Have you bought a saddle, Pa?’
Archibald pointed at the hackney. ‘In there.’
In moments the cab door was yanked open and Araminta had dragged the saddle out. It dropped to the flagstones. Disappointment showed on her face. ‘It’s a side-saddle, Pa. You
As the first shafts of dawn brushed the rooftops, the Viscount emerged in company with a young man of flushed appearance and nervous hands.
‘So sorry about your run of luck,’ Trelowen said, steadying his companion as he stumbled up the step of a hackney. ‘Bound to change soon. Try again tomorrow.’
The young man’s face blanched. He shook his head and collapsed onto the seat.
Trelowen shut the door with a narrow smile and watched the cab pull away. Without turning he said, ‘So? Who is he?’
Griggs emerged from the shadow. ‘Dunno, sur. Webb couldn’t keep up. He lost ’im halfway down Piccadilly.’
His lordship allowed his gaze to swim round to the figure shuffling from foot to foot. ‘That is not what I ordered.’
‘No, sur. Sorry, sur.’ Griggs tried to find a positive aspect of the failure. ‘But I don’t reckon as you’d get much there. Not like that young ‘un.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the disappearing hackney. ‘The fat one didn’t look too downy to me. Very sharp with his cash, ‘e was. Kept ‘is change from the jarvey.’
Trelowen’s eyes raked the shabby figure from tangled hair to worn boots. ‘Should I find myself in need of your opinion, I will doubtless let you know.’
His eyes made Griggs shiver. ‘Yes, sur. Sorry, sur.’
Trelowen dismissed him with the wave of a pale hand. Griggs tugged at his forelock and backed away, heading for his favourite drinking house and a mug of ale. And the opportunity to tell Webb just how pleased their sometime-employer had not been.
Chapter Six
L ady Fosbury was lying down with a megrim in a room shaded from the late-afternoon sun. Darling Linton’s new fiancée had proven herself to be nothing more than a cheap jilt and called off the engagement. Otherwise her ladyship would have noticed the commotion outside the impressive frontage of the house next door. As it was she was spared the effort of disapproving.
A hackney had pulled to a halt. Archibald Neave descended. He waddled up the front steps and banged the brass knocker on the door. Without waiting for an answer he performed an about face and bounced on his toes, one fist tapping the opposite palm behind his back. He watched the skittering progress of his new purchase across the square with pleasure. Mellor, the mounted groom, his allegiance now transferred from Tatt’s to his new employer, led it with great care and no little anxiety.
The door opened behind Archibald. The under-butler’s doleful face appeared.
‘Nesbit, call Miss Araminta here. Tell her to hurry.’ Nesbit cast a quick glance over the object of his master’s interest. Archibald saw him. ‘And no mention of that. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’
Araminta arrived in moments having gleefully abandoned the tambour work Miss Orksville had decided should be her needlework accomplishment. She rocked to a halt on the top step. ‘Oh, Pa,’ she gasped. ‘Is it mine?’
‘It is, girl. All yours.’
Spellbound, Araminta watched the groom approach, mouth open above her clasped hands. At last she moved. ‘Does he have a name?’ she called, running down the steps.
‘I doubt it.’ His remark was addressed to his daughter’s back. ‘Call him what you like.’
The creature’s nose was velvet soft. Araminta stroked it. She whispered sweet nonsense into the pricked ears. ‘Pegasus. That’s what you’ll be. Pegasus.’ She turned. ‘Have you bought a saddle, Pa?’
Archibald pointed at the hackney. ‘In there.’
In moments the cab door was yanked open and Araminta had dragged the saddle out. It dropped to the flagstones. Disappointment showed on her face. ‘It’s a side-saddle, Pa. You
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